


wrong words seem to rhyme

by DropshipMyths



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropshipMyths/pseuds/DropshipMyths
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke have a pretty big age gap, and everyone thinks Bellamy is no good for Clarke. They all think he’s too old and won’t treat her right. But in reality, Bellamy is a big sweetheart who only wants to love and protect Clarke. He's just not sure he deserves to.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 61
Kudos: 331





	1. Chapter 1

It starts as all the best things do, slowly. Clarke notices him working at the circulation desk during her first visit to the spacious library at Shallow Valley University near the start of second semester. Alone at a study table for four near a sunny window, she can't help but crane her neck back to stare up at the gorgeous frescoed ceiling depicting the ancients reclining in grassy hollows while ponds, mountains and temples stretch out behind them. Large, circular light fixtures like ones plucked straight out of a Medieval castle hang at intervals, and all the wooden tables and shelves full of books positively gleam. She's pretty sure even Hermione Granger would approve of this place. Clarke likes peace and quiet, especially when she needs to study for an exam in art history. With her laptop, water bottle, books and notes spread out in front of her, she's prepared to spend as long as it takes until she's memorized the first set of European painters on her syllabus. 

That is, until she sees the very attractive man at the circulation desk who smiles politely at every student and faculty member who drops by and seems to talk a lot with his hands. Something just sort of happens when she lays eyes on him for the first time. It's cliche to say time slows down, but that's what it feels like. The things around him fade away, the computers and cart full of old volumes ready to be re-shelved. There are only his warm brown eyes and the way his green pullover crinkles as he scans each item students ask to check out. 

She makes it through Monet, van Gogh, and Renoir before she cracks. Clarke is on her feet and halfway to the front of the library before she realizes she has absolutely no idea what to say to him. 

"Thanks, Blake!" A kid wearing goggles on his head gives the man behind the counter a salute before heading toward the exit. 

This leaves her standing in front of him blinking and trying to make sure her mouth stays closed. He's too good-looking to be allowed, even more so up close. He seems older than the average college student as well, more mature. There's a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that she finds comforting, and his skin is radiant enough for a commercial. Clarke winds the tip of her blonde braid around her fingers, momentarily at a loss for words. 

"Hi," he (Blake?) says. "Um, can I help you with something?" 

His gaze is a little concerned. She must look like a moron. 

"Rembrandt!" she blurts out the first painter she can think of off her list. God, he's going to think she has Tourette's. "I need the library's best book on Rembrandt." She swallows down the dryness in her throat. "Please. It's for an exam." 

"Uh-huh. Ok, I can work with that."

He pulls up the sleeves of his shirt and she catches the curl of cursive writing on his inner arm, _Ascende Superius. _She wonders what it means. His hands are large, but his fingers fly over the keys. A few moments later, he's looking at her triumphantly. 

"I found a good one. Come on." 

Clarke's heart beats double time as he leads her across the Hogwarts-esque library - did she mention how much she loves the smell of old leather in this place? - and through a door in a back corner that leads to a drafty stairwell. He holds open the door for her. 

"Sorry for the hike," he offers. "All the art books are upstairs." The rumble of his voice definitely sends a swarm of butterflies flapping in her stomach. 

Clarke mumbles something unintelligible, trying hard to keep her balance climbing up the steep steps. It's a pointless effort because her heeled boot slips on the top step, and she falls backward with an "Ooof" straight into his chest. His hard chest. His arms circle around her automatically.

"Easy there," he chuckles, setting her back to her feet. 

Her face burns when she turns to face him and stammer out an apology. So does either side of her waist where he touched her. 

"Thank you, uhh, umm..."

"Bellamy," he provides, stepping up onto the landing with her and holding out his hand for her to shake. "Bellamy Blake."

It's a beautiful name. It suits him. When her ivory hand becomes engulfed in his tan one, she senses sparks. Bellamy holds on a second longer than strictly necessary, and she does too. Bellamy rubs at the back of his neck when he lets go of her. He's definitely waiting for something. But what? 

"Not a problem. Helping damsels in distress is part of the job description, Princess." 

The nickname should probably irk her. But when his charming smile is radiating directly in her direction, she doesn't really know what to do with herself. It's big and bright and makes her a little weak in the knees. 

"Princess?" 

"You didn't tell me your name." 

"Oh," she lets out quietly. "Sorry. It's Clarke," she nods. "Clarke Griffin." 

"Nice to meet you, Clarke." He makes her name sound like honey over chocolate. 

If she thought the downstairs was quiet, the upstairs is like a tomb. She spots a girl with crazy brown-auburn curls rocking out to her headphones in an armchair in a reading nook. And Monty, her roommate Harper's boyfriend, is scribbling down something (probably blueprints to build a robot - that kid is crazy smart) in a nearby carrel. Bellamy guides her into the maze of stacks. After three left turns and a right one, he stops in front of a section of shelves and pulls down _Rembrandt: The Painter at Work _and places it into her hands. 

"This one's the best," he says confidently.

The walk back downstairs is one she wants to stretch out for as long as possible. He asks her if art is her major, and she tells him she's considering all her options at the moment and "exploring everything a liberal arts education has to offer," which is what her mother calls it. 

"I'm only a freshman," she says off-handedly when they reach her table. 

Bellamy turns to stare at her in surprise. 

"Really?" 

"Yep." She pops the 'p' even though it's something she never does. 

"Oh," he clears his throat awkwardly. She's noticing he seems to rub the back of his neck a lot. 

"Is that a problem?"

"No, no." He shakes his head. "You just carry yourself like someone ... uh, older." 

Her lips transition into an understanding smile. "Hazard of being the daughter of Arkadia's mayor I guess."

Dawning comprehension slides over his face, and she immediately realizes her blunder. Arkadia is the biggest city in Virginia. Of course he'll have heard of her mother, and if he doesn't like her politics, then--

"A lot of fundraisers and benefits, so I get my practice being fancy and mature," she rushes on, aware she's rambling but not knowing how to stop the runaway train that is her mouth. "But, you know, I can be totally normal. Act my age and all that. I like parties and late-night quesadillas. I love The Real Housewives. I take the bus. I've gone to class in yoga pants before." 

Bellamy is clearly about three seconds away from busting out in laughter. She blew it. She'll never meet such a charmingly gorgeous senior (grad student??) again. "It's ok, Princess," he taps her shoulder lightly. "I believe you. Good luck with your test. I'll see you around." 

Clarke slumps back into her seat with a huff. She can't even make good use of the excellent book Bellamy found her because she's so depressed. Fortunately, it's not long before Harper takes the seat across from her, throwing her heavy backpack on the table with a thud. 

"Did I or did I not just see you chatting with Bellamy Blake?" She leans forward with wide eyes like they're sharing a great secret. 

"He helped me find a book, that's all. He is the library assistant." Clarke tilts her chin up even though her fingers are shuffling her notes around nervously. 

"Whatever, lie to someone who doesn't live with you. I saw those heart eyes. And--" she drops her voice so Clarke has to strain to hear her. "I'm going to tell you now I think it's a bad idea. He hangs out with a bunch of senior druggies Monty told me." 

And the only reason - irony of ironies - that Monty would know is because his best friend Jasper is probably the biggest drug user of them all. 

"Who?" Clarke narrows her eyes. 

Harper shrugs casually. "Nathan Miller, John Murphy, those other goons from the basketball team Atom and Dax, you know." 

"He didn't seem like a pothead to me," Clarke snipes back. 

"Babe, pot is just the beginning," Harper says sympathetically. "Plus, he's 26." She whispers it like she's sharing he has gonorrhea. "He's a super senior and started college very late. Family problems or something," she waves her hand like it's insignificant, or more likely, insignificant to her. "You don't want to get messed up in all that." 

Clarke sighs as Harper opens up her French textbook. Over her friend's shoulder, she watches Bellamy as discreetly as possible, wondering what kind of backstory hides behind his appealing exterior. 


	2. Chapter 2

It's a week later when Clarke finds herself with another assignment that sends her scurrying out of Phoenix Hall, her rowdy freshman dorm, and back to Wallace Library. The plan is to keep her head down on the off chance that Bellamy is working behind the circulation desk. (It would be beyond embarrassing to look him in the eye after last week's fiasco). Then she'll hole up in some corner near a vending machine, bathroom and alternative exit and get started designing a brochure advertising the best Argentina has to offer - all in Spanish of course. Yes, she's thought this out. 

She makes it to her hideaway nook and has even started scouring some photography websites for free content when someone clearing his throat over her shoulder makes her jump. 

"Planning a trip, Princess?" 

She turns to find Bellamy grinning down at her, all warm and friendly. His bottle green shirt looks nice against his tan skin. For a second, she forgets how to speak. 

"It's for my Spanish class." God, why does she have to blush _now? _"I have to research a Spanish-speaking country and make a travel brochure of its best attractions." 

"Attractions, huh?" Bellamy wraps his hands around the back of the chair across from her. "So... art history, Spanish. What else are you taking, Clarke?" 

A tiny little blossoming pink flower of hope starts to unfurl from the leaves in her stomach. 

"Big Bio - so like, ecosystems and evolution, Introduction to Global Health in the sociology department and U.S. Diplomacy in Poli Sci." 

"So safe to say you're keeping your options open?" 

Clarke smiles at that. 

"I guess so. But I'm leaning toward pre-med with a minor in political science so I can study how the government responds to health crises around the world." 

"I'm impressed." 

"That's what I was aiming for." 

Bellamy's laugh is melodic and too appealing. 

"How about you?" she asks to draw her attention away from the way his eyes are dancing. 

"A lot more boring, sorry to say. I'm a business major." 

"And what do you want to do with that?" 

"Make money." 

"All right then." 

Bellamy shrugs. "I'm here on a scholarship and I want to do something with it, you know? I can't afford for it to be a waste. Besides, I look good in a suit." 

Clarke doesn't doubt it. She bites her lip and stares back down at her computer screen just for a moment to collect herself. She's about to reply when a sharp-eyed blonde woman comes up behind Bellamy. 

"Blake! I've been looking for you. I need your help tracking down some resources for my statistics class." 

Bellamy flashes his eyebrows at Clarke before turning to the woman in question. 

"Sure thing, Professor Byrne. What are you looking for?" 

He throws her one last look over his shoulder before he's lost in the sea of bookshelves. Clarke's shoulders slump. She really thought she hadn't wanted to see Bellamy, but now that she has, being alone again feels like a letdown. Sighing, she returns to her brochure and hopes that a bag of Doritos later will placate her. 

But it turns out Clarke never makes it to the vending machine. Her perch by the window alerts her to a group of adorable looking kids setting up a table in front of the library and laying out what appear to be an assortment of baked goods. So two hours later, she packs up her stuff and heads to the gleaming checkout counter with a few decent books about Argentina that will help her with her project. A petite girl she actually knows, Fox, is sitting at the desk beside Bellamy. But she's absorbed in helping a distraught kid claiming there are "literally no published articles about my research topic." 

Bellamy waves her over. "Sorry about before," he says while she unloads her books. "Professor Byrne can be intense sometimes." 

"No problem. I wouldn't want to get in the way of the pursuit of mathematical knowledge." 

She sees Bellamy try to hide his smirk. His scanner makes a satisfying beeping noise as it rolls over the books' barcodes. 

"Yeah, math is pointless, especially if you're going pre-med." 

"Or want to be a businessman tracking consumer behavior," Clarke quips back. 

"Right, exactly." 

"So," Clarke's eyes flick away to the enormous glass entrance doors. "I saw some kids setting up for a bake sale outside. At least that's what it looked like." 

"Oh yeah," Bellamy smiles. "My sister's boyfriend works at Arkadia Elementary, and they're raising money for new computers. He thought hungry college kids could be a good target market." 

"Smart guy," she agrees. 

"Jury's still out on that one," Bellamy retorts. "But my mom used to like helping me with school bake sales, so... I caved and put in a good word." 

His face twists somewhat uncomfortably, and she can't help feeling she hit on some unknowable nerve. But when he hands her back her books, a familiar jolt of excitement swims up her spine from where their fingers brush against each other's. There's no reason to stay any longer though. A line is forming behind her. 

"Well," she shifts her weight from foot to foot, unsure what to say. "Bye, Bellamy." 

"Catch you later, Princess." 

Outside, Clarke is met with a few fat drops of rain plopping against her nose and cheek. The elementary school students are packing up their treats with the help of some fast-moving moms. 

"Hi, I'm Madi. Do you want to buy a cookie?" a dark-haired girl calls out as she approaches. She's cute with her hair in pigtails. "We're raising money for computers at school but have to leave early cause of the rain." 

Clarke smiles and nods. "I'd love to." 

She surveys the table of wares still on display and gasps in delight at the prettily iced cookies in all different shapes. Her eyes land on an amazing specimen in the shape of Cinderella's castle at Disney World. It's iced in grey with a blue door, windows and flags. "I'll take that one please." 

Madi wraps it in starry plastic for her with a silver ribbon when she says it's a gift. Back in her dorm she scribbles out a note. Thankfully, Harper isn't present to tease her about it. 

The following morning before class, she hurries into the library, which is blessedly quiet. The head librarian, Mrs. Cartwig, is surprised by the package thrust into her hand but says she'll deliver it and that's the best Clarke can hope for before she's dashing across the grassy quad to her sociology class. 

Bellamy arrives for his night shift at the library after dinner, finding a crinkly bag in his designated locker. A tiny _Thank you _card is taped to it. Inside, the message is simple: _Thanks for being there to catch me. _A miniature but incredibly precise drawing of a crown rests next to it. 


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke is flipping through the DVD collection at the library trying to track down one in particular. She was supposed to watch the film in one of the library's study rooms yesterday but had to stay late for biology lab, so she never got around to it. Now she's running out of time to view it and then write a reaction paper about its political themes - all in Spanish. It's getting late, and the library is quiet. Occasionally she can hear the gentle clicking of computer keys or muffled footsteps as someone passes by. But most students are probably at dinner or one of the hundred clubs that meet at night in the student union. All the stain glass study table lamps have been turned on, helping to bathe the place in rosy beams. 

"Yes!" she says quietly to herself. "Got you!" 

"El Laberinto del Fauno, a classic choice," a man says over her shoulder. 

Clarke huffs in protest. "You've really got to stop sneaking up on me." 

Bellamy grins and holds up his hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean to. I was headed up for the roof and saw you here. I just wanted to thank you for my castle cookie." 

"Oh. Yeah, no problem." 

She looks back at the neatly stacked row of shiny DVDs and feels her neck start to heat up. 

"So..." Bellamy taps at her selection with one finger. "Is this for fun or?" 

"No, homework. Or should I say la tarea," Clarke half-laughs. 

Bellamy looks contemplative. He smells woodsy and familiar up close, and it's doing weird things to her heart rhythm. "I've seen it in English. It's pretty decent. I'm more of a documentary kind of guy though to be honest." 

"What kind of documentaries?" 

"The best kind," Bellamy's brown eyes glow as they widen and he leans a little closer to her like they're sharing a great secret. "The historical ones." 

"Oh I see. You're a nerd!" 

"You wound me!" Bellamy slaps a palm across his chest. "I'm sure I could find one that changes your mind." 

Clarke shrugs. "Maybe you could. I'm all about expanding my horizons." 

Something that's got to be a close cousin to hope dashes across his face, but then it swiftly disappears. Her palms are sweating slightly around the DVD case. 

"So how about you, Princess? What do you like to watch?" 

"That's easy, reality TV and political dramas." 

Bellamy shakes his head in mock horror. 

"That's right - you and the housewives." 

Clarke checks out the old wood floor polished to a gloss beneath her boots and bites her lip. 

"Only when I need to feel better about my life. I like Shark Tank too and Kids Baking Championship and Fixer Upper right now. Undercover Boss was good. And don't even get me started on The Handmaid's Tale or Scandal." 

"Guess that makes sense with your mom's job." 

Clarke runs her hand through her yellow waves, suddenly very self-conscious. 

"Yeah, we don't have to talk about that." She waves her hand through the air. 

"Why? Your mom's trying to do a lot of good things for Arkadia. I read about her proposal to get teachers paid a lot more based on how well their kids do on state tests. Lincoln, that's my sister's boyfriend, said it would be a great policy if she could get some support from the legislature." 

Clarke doesn't always see eye to eye with her mother, but she's really proud of all of her political work. Bellamy's words bring a strange fluttering into her chest. 

"That's nice of you to say." 

"It's the truth," he smiles at her, and it's sincerely too much for her poor brain to handle. He's close by - maybe two feet away and she's really not sure what to _do _with herself. Nervous energy spasms through her like juice being pulsed out of a lemon. 

"I used to think about being a teacher," he says offhandedly, leaning against the shelf with one hand.

"Yeah?" Clarke grins. "What kind?" 

"Oh definitely history. I ate up every book I could get my hands on as a kid. I had one teacher in middle school that really made it come alive. We would get into all the details like what the people wore during the Dark Ages and what they ate. How they talked, what they cared about and what framed their point of view. He would find stuff for us to watch and ways for us to act out important battles and treaties so it was kind of like drama class. That was always my favorite." 

Bellamy gets excited as he remembers, his hands starting to zoom through the air. It's definitely adorable. 

"I could see you in a toga helping your kids plan out the death of Julius Caesar," Clarke quips. 

"That's the spirit, Princess." 

His smile leaves her warm, and she wants to ask why he can't have that dream, but she's knows it's an inappropriate question. Bellamy nods his head off in the direction of the stairwell behind them and digs his hands into his pockets, one of which she now realizes contains the outline of a rectangular box. 

"I'm headed up to the roof for a smoke break, so I guess I'll see you around?"

Clarke opens her mouth to speak but closes it again. She makes a half-step toward him as if captivated by some unknowable force. The movie will take her twice as long as its running time of two hours to get through since she has to watch it in a foreign language with foreign subtitles. Then there will undoubtedly be a good few hours of work involved in writing a three-page paper in Spanish at the speed it takes her. The assignment is due at 4 p.m. tomorrow, and she doesn't have a class until then. A glance at the clock on wall beyond Bellamy tells her the current time is 7:30 p.m. So cutting it close no doubt, but doable if she starts now. 

Bellamy's black eyebrows draw in toward his nose. "Need some fresh air?" 

The decision's already made. 

"Yeah. That would be good." 

This time they take the stairs all the way to the top of the building. Bellamy holds the steeled grey door open for her when they reach the final platform. Clarke shivers when a cold breeze greets them and has a miniature thrill of pleasure when Bellamy's hand lands briefly on the small of her back as she walks past him into the night air before it's gone. The roof is cleaner than she expected and has a good view of the tree-lined campus full of historic brick buildings. The moon is nearly full, and the sky is speckled with stars as Clarke takes in a good lungful of air. 

"Welcome to my escape," Bellamy says in that gruff tone that reminds her of rocks scraping up against each other. He walks over to the edge of the wall, and she sits on a raised platform connected to what must be the heating system. 

"It's nice up here," she comments to keep herself from being too distracted by how Bellamy's deft fingers work to light his cigarette. A brief burst of orange fire burns before the dark embers are swept away by the flick of a finger. "Peaceful." 

"It's a good place to think," Bellamy agrees, stealing a sidelong glance at her. 

"You know since I'm probably going pre-med, I have to tell you those are bad for you, right?" 

Bellamy's chuckle is amused. 

"Uh-huh. I've heard that before." 

Clarke tilts her head and raises her eyebrows. "Glad we got that out of the way." 

They're quiet for a minute or two, watching an owl loop through the sky on its night flight. Clarke pulls her pillowed jacket closer to her body to insulate herself from the air. 

"You can see the big dipper tonight," Bellamy says, pointing up in its general direction. "See?" 

"Yeah," Clarke replies, delighted. "I haven't seen it since my dad took me camping as a little girl. He used to love being out in nature." 

Her voice goes quiet and sad at the end. She's glad the tear that slips out comes from her right eye, the one Bellamy can't see as well from his vantage point. Her dad died two years ago, but it's still hard.

Bellamy takes a few careful steps toward her as she hastily wipes at the wet streak down her cheek. 

"I'm sure he'd be really proud of you and how hard you're working here." 

"I hope so," Clarke tries to smile. "He was definitely an intellectual." 

Bellamy puts out the cigarette and sits down a couple feet from her. It's probably weird that she likes the smoke smell that lingers with him, but she finds it comforting. 

"What did he do for work?"

"He was an aerospace engineer, worked with the Pentagon to design fighter jets for the military." 

Bellamy lets out a low whistle. "Damn." 

Clarke rubs her chilled fingers together in her lap. "He loved reading The New York Times and going to trivia nights at one of his favorite bars but he was a goofball too. He always organized water balloon fights for the neighborhood kids and built this big slip-and-slide for them to come play on our hill every summer." 

"That's pretty awesome, Princess." 

She turns and sees Bellamy looking at her with sincerity in his eyes. 

Her laugh has a frazzled quality to it when it leaves her mouth. She can’t believe she just told him so much.

"So you're set on this business thing, huh? You sure you don't want to give teaching a try?" 

Bellamy stares ahead for a moment, running his fingers through his hair. But he rolls with the change of topic. His bottom lip rolls up like he's going to swallow it. "Yeah, my decision was made a while ago. I went to night school after I graduated high school to study carpentry and worked for a bit doing house renovation and building jobs. My mom was with a guy at the time, but it wasn't working out and he left," His jaw clenches, and Clarke feels like a voyeur somehow to his evident pain. "Anyway, I got a late start on the whole university thing. I mentioned my younger sister before, Octavia?"

Clarke nods. 

"Yeah, it was her dad. Now she's got two years left of high school, and I want her to be able to afford to go to college. I look out for her because our mom's, uh... been through a lot. It's just the three of us, and they're my responsibility."

Clarke finds herself hanging on every word. She tries adding it up in her mind, figuring that Octavia must be his half-sister because he didn't say "our dad." The distinction seems important to him. 

"That's why you work at the library?" Clarke asks softly.

"Among other things. I do landscaping for Nathan Miller's dad's company when the weather's good. I pick up shifts at a coffee shop in town too. This woman who used to be a hippie runs it, covers the place in bean bag chairs and hanging crystals. But I brew a mean mocha latte. Guess you'd call me a Jack of All Trades." 

He grins at her and she finds herself returning it. 

"That's an impressive resume." 

Bellamy shrugs it off. "Not really. Just doing what needs to be done."

"Any other secret talents?" Clarke teases. "Do you juggle? Can you swallow fire or ride a unicycle?" 

Bellamy shakes his head. She's afraid her face might hurt tomorrow from all the smiling. 

"My buddy Murphy is a psych major here though, and his classmates run experiments sometimes for their research. He tips me off about them, and I sign up for the ones that get paid. There's one coming up next week." 

"Do you know what it's for?"

"Nah. They rarely ever tell you in advance." 

Clarke blinks, mulling it over. 

"Are you going to sign up for this one?" 

"No, I can't." 

"Why not?"

"You need a second person. It has to be done in pairs, but I don't know why." 

"Oh." The wheels in Clarke's brain start clicking into motion. But he can't mean to actually ask _her? _There's tons of people he must know better who would help him out. 

He catches her strange expression and reaches out to touch her arm. "You ok?" 

"Fine, I was just trying to figure out if you were trying to get me to volunteer to be a lab rat." 

She decides she likes his off-guard, rich laughs the best. 

"No, not at all. I wouldn't subject you to the strangeness that is John Murphy." 

Clarke's eyes narrow in mischief, and the corner of her mouth twitches. 

"What if I volunteer?" 

Bellamy sits up straighter, puzzling at her. 

"You want to?" 

"Yeah, maybe. I'm saving up money for a car, and this could be an easy way to earn some." 

"You're full of surprises, Princess." 

Clarke throws up her arms at the view. "So are you." 

Professor Jaha is grabbing a cup of coffee from the cart parked in the lobby of the library when he sees a flash of familiar blonde hair whip by the nearest set of stacks. He smiles when he hears his best friend's daughter laughing. He'd promised her mother he'd look out for her when she started at Shallow Valley, and he wants her to thrive and be happy. The Griffins have been through a lot, more than their fair share. Clarke comes to the end of the row and she's standing close to a dark-haired man whose full attention she's obviously holding. Jaha's grip around his coffee cup tightens. Of all the people she could have met here, Bellamy Blake is not his first choice. 


	4. Chapter 4

To: agriffin@arkadia.gov

From: theolonious.jaha@svu.edu

Sent: Tuesday, February 12, 2019 at 9:35 p.m. 

_Abby,_

_Looking forward to the basketball game on Saturday. Rosemary and I stumbled on a great Italian place we think you'll like for dinner beforehand. _

_I went back and forth about mentioning this to you, but as Clarke's godfather, I decided I should. I've seen her hanging out with one of my advisees, Bellamy Blake, several times around the library. He's a good kid, a hard worker, but he's a lot older than the typical college student - 26 - because he started late. There were some serious problems at home. I recommended he visit a campus counselor at one point because of his behavior but don't know if he followed through or not. _

_It's probably nothing, but all the same, if it were my daughter, I'd want to know. We can talk more this weekend if needed. _

_Cheers,_

_Thelonious _

Jaha leans back in his oversized office chair, hearing it squeak. Removing his glasses, he rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. The arrow hovers over the Send icon. If nothing else, he knows his friend has a lot on her plate to deal with as mayor. He doesn't want to add to the burden. But there was something so ... _intense_ about the way Clarke looked at this young man each time he saw them together. They behaved as though nobody else was in the room with them or would ever matter again. It was probably too late already. Still, he didn't want to see his goddaughter's heart get broken in two. Not again. Not after Jake. He took a deep breath and clicked. 

***

Clarke is scurrying across the jewel bright green lawn, tugging her pillow jacket closer to her body as a shield against the fierce wind. The psychology building has just come into view when her phone rings. She pulls it out of her bag and sees her mother's name. Clarke checks the time and groans. Exactly nine minutes before she's supposed to meet Bellamy for the experiment. She picks up her pace.

"Hey, mom." 

"Sweetheart, how are you? You sound flustered." Abby has the stately voice of a British royal, even with her own family. 

"It's like 40 degrees, mom, and I'm walking. I've got a meeting for one of my class projects at four-thirty, so now's not really the best time--"

"Allow me to cut to the chase then." Her mother sounds mostly light-hearted, but then again, it's always hard to tell for sure. You never know when the sneak attack is coming. Or at least Clarke doesn't. 

"Are you dating anyone, Clarke?" 

The question stops Clarke in her tracks. She stares down at the phone in her palm and blinks.

"Clarke? Clarke?" 

"I'm here. Why?" Her blonde hair streams behind her like ribbons of silk as she hurries forward again, boots crushing against small pieces of unmelted snow on the edge of the walkway. 

"Because it's nearly Valentine's Day, dear. I just wanted to see if you had any special plans. Can a mom not ask that anymore?" 

Clarke feels a momentary stab of guilt between her ribs. "No, it's ok," she lets her voice soften. 

"Sooooo..." 

"No," Clarke says, short. "I've been focusing on my work. Trying to pick a major." 

"Finn is in the rearview mirror then?" Her mother always knows how to go straight for the jugular. She knows only the barest outline of the Finn Saga, and Clarke would like to keep it that way. 

"God, yes!" Clarke's eyes open wide as a few brittle brown leaves scatter by on a gust of wind. "Cheaters are not my thing." 

Abby makes a noise of approval, and there's a slight pause.

"You sure there's nobody else you're... _interested _in?" 

There it is. 

"Look, if you've got something to say (accuse she corrects in her head), just say it. I'm running late." God she hopes her mother doesn't have a set-up in mind with the random son of some stuffy government official. 

"Fine," Abby sounds strangely hurt. "Most daughters talk to their mothers, Clarke, so the mothers don't have to hear information about them secondhand. But, as it is," she sighs, "There might be a young man at the campus library?" 

Clarke stops so suddenly a cyclist behind her rings his bell aggressively and veers around her to the left, missing her shoulder by inches. She grips the phone harder, heart pounding. 

"Are you spying on me?" she demands. She wouldn't put it past the woman honestly. 

"Not at all, dear." 

"Then who told you?" 

There are so many options, so many people her mother is connected to here based on her political career. Kane, Sydney, Jaha, Lightbourne. She was so stupid to think she could talk to Bellamy in a public space and not be seen. 

"That's not important." Abby's voice has taken on the rare, stiff parental tone that makes Clarke realize they've reached the true point of this phone call. She braces her back against a wide oak tree and watches students walk back and forth across the quad. 

"Then what is important?" 

"I'm sure he's a lovely boy, Clarke, but he's--"

Clarke's eyebrows scrunch together while her blood grows hot. She's beyond a shadow of a doubt sure her mother knows absolutely nothing about Bellamy, so whatever is about to come out of her mouth will be pure second-hand gossip. 

"You've never met him, so there's no way you could possibly have an opinion," Clarke snips. 

"Sweetheart, be reasonable. He's 26 years old. Please believe me when I tell you he's not," she softens her voice for the last part, "good for you right now." 

"Did you run a background check on him?" Clarke hisses. Silence answers her question. "Who mentioned him to you? Answer me!" Her raised voice sends a nearby pigeon scuttling back into flight. She starts walking again, nearing the front of the psych building. 

"It doesn't matter, Clarke. The information is good, and I trust the person." 

More than she trusts her own daughter's judgment, apparently. 

"Who the hell do you think you are, Mom?" 

"Clarke, please, at least listen to what I have to say about it--"

But Clarke is distracted by the boyish smile of Bellamy himself, raising a Starbucks cup into the air in greeting. He's wearing a black leather jacket and a burgundy scarf, black curls whipping around with the weather. She's momentarily speechless from the sheer beauty of him. 

"I've got to go," she presses the words into the phone. "Please stay out of my personal life. Bye." 

Clarke shoves the phone back into her bag and waves back, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies waking up in her stomach. Then she's right in front of him, and Bellamy is pulling her into a side hug that lets her smell the spice of his cologne, reminding her of winter campfires. He's nice and warm and she's sad to let go of him. 

"Thanks again for doing this," Bellamy grins down at her. "I got you a hot chocolate." He frowns a little for the first time when he holds up the drink for her. "I wasn't sure of your coffee order, but I figured this was the next best thing?" 

"It's actually _the_ very best thing," Clarke accepts the cup happily and wraps her fingers around the cardboard shell. The memory of the phone call with her mom is already slipping away. "I don't like coffee." 

"Good to know," Bellamy says. The first sip of the liquid chocolate bliss hits her tongue and Clarke hums in approval. "This is delicious, thank you!" 

"Any time. I have no idea what Murphy has in store for us, so it's the least I could do." 

With that, his hand finds that same space on the small of her back that sends tremors running to her toes, and he nods up the steps to the entrance way. 

"Ready to be a lab rat?" 

Clarke giggles and shrugs. "As I'll ever be." 

***

Clarke soon finds herself in a typical vanilla classroom, though this one has small tables scattered about as opposed to lines of desks. There's a smart board on the wall, a ticking black clock near the entrance, and a very cheerful female psych studentready to greet them. 

"Welcome to the experiment. Thanks so much for participating today!" She eyes them closely although Clarke's not sure what it is she's looking for. But she seems to be satisfied after a moment and resumes the chatter. "My name's Maya, and I'm here to help with anything you need." 

She beams at the two of them and eagerly presses some paperwork into their hands. 

"These are the consent forms you'll need to fill out and underneath that you'll find the questionnaire which will be used in the experiment today. Please have a seat and I'll explain the premise of the experiment once everyone arrives. If you don't want to participate at that point, you'll be free to leave of course. But we are paying those who stay $200 each due to the nature of the experiment." 

Bellamy is in the middle of thanking her, and Clarke's mind's reeling at how much cash the psych experiment has on hand to throw at students, when another voice cuts in from across the room.

"Bellamy Blake! As I live and breathe. I didn't think you'd find anyone to bring." 

"What's up, Murphy?" Bellamy does that chin nod maneuver boys have down so well, but otherwise his face remains impassable. "You told me the experiment was for two people." 

Clarke swallows and glances away before refocusing her attention on the guy with brown spiky hair making his way toward them.

"John Murphy," he holds out his hand to Clarke with a teasing smile. "You deserve a medal for putting up with this one," he nods toward Bellamy. 

"Clarke Griffin," she raises her one eyebrow at the character in front of her. "Pleasure." 

"I think I deserve the medal for putting up with you," Bellamy mutters, but grins a little when Murphy punches his shoulder. 

"So any heads-up about what we're doing here today?" Clarke asks. 

"And spoil the surprise? Where's the fun in that?" Murphy laughs and gives her a similar look to the one Maya did moments earlier. "But I think you'll do." 

"Come on," Bellamy nods toward an empty corner of the room, allowing her to walk in front of him and pick their seats. 

Five minutes later the room is half-full of students and Clarke's pretty positive they can all hear her heartbeat under her heavy sweater. They're here for a love experiment. No, not just a love experiment. _The _love experiment - the one with the 36 questions you have to ask your partner before staring longingly into his eyes - to see if you end up actually falling for them in real life. It's basically her worst nightmare come to life. How will she ever be able to get through this with him of all people? 

As Maya talks, Clarke's leg starts shaking more and more under the table. It's enough of a distraction for Bellamy to lay a gentle palm on her thigh, letting the tips of his fingers squeeze her muscle. 

Leaning forward enough for Clarke to smell his earthy cologne, he whispers into her ear. "I'm so sorry about this. We can go if you want. I won't be mad." 

She flicks her eyes up to his, and they're close at hand. Warm brown, too. He seems uncertain but intent on making her feel comfortable. He also doesn't look away, and she finds she doesn't either. Clarke takes a deep breath. Maybe she can do this if Bellamy's her partner.

Throwing him a soft smile, she whispers, "And throw away $400 bucks? We'd be crazy." 

"We would be," Bellamy concedes. He pauses, and his mouth twitches. "So you're in?" 

"I'm in," Clarke nods. 


	5. Chapter 5

The lights in the room are a little too bright, and one of them somewhere over Clarke's head keeps humming faintly in the background. She's sitting across from Bellamy now, but the tables are cramped enough that her knees can nearly brush up against his. 

He clears his throat once, twice. His fingers have found their way into his hair as he bites his lip and reads the questions in the first section. There are three sections in total. She knows this because she's already speed-read her way through them all, stomach clenching at the more personal ones near the end. If her best friend from high school, Wells, doesn't know these things about her, she's pretty sure nobody else does either. For several questions, she wouldn't even be honest with herself about the answers under normal circumstances. But here she is, sitting across from a fidgety man who is more than likely avoiding eye contact with her, as she tries to dig up the courage to complete the task. 

It starts off simple enough, the questions in the first section being soft balls. Bellamy stops ticking his pen back and forth on the table once they get started. 

"Would you like to be famous? In what way?" Clarke asks after admitting to wanting to have dinner with Marie Curie. (He'd said he'd prefer to dine with Homer then proceeded to laugh when her eyes got wide as quarters). 

Bellamy scoffs. "Easy. Hell, no." 

"Why not? Clarke smiles a little. "Camera shy?" 

He shrugs. "I just wouldn't want a bunch of strangers digging into my personal life like I was an animal at the zoo." 

She can't argue with that though the earlier comments from her mother roll around in her mind until she pushes them away. "Fair enough." 

"Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?" she asks a few minute later. 

"Morbid, Princess." 

"Hey, I didn't write these questions!" 

"When I was younger I had these nightmares about wandering through a spaceship by myself. It was always the same one, same silver, circular doorways and the same viewing deck to stare at the Earth and moon. I would stand there and watch the planet burn." Clarke feels suddenly cold as the image starts to form for her too. "I opened every compartment, but I could never find anyone there. I don't know who I was looking for. But I remember feeling trapped like I would die up there." 

"Not a good way to go," Clarke says softly.

"No."

"Good thing you're not in school to be an astronaut, huh?"

She winks at him when he meets her gaze, and he rolls his eyes at her before flashing his top teeth in a quick smile. It's nice to be able to draw those out of him. 

"Name three things your partner and you appear to have in common," Bellamy requests. 

Clarke rocks back on the hind legs of her chair. 

"That's tricky."

"Potentially dangerous too."

"I know I have to be careful," she hums. "Well, I think we're both politically left of center." 

He nods once. "True." 

"We both like to find quiet places to take a break and think." Bellamy makes an interested noise at the back of his throat.

"You know about the library roof for me, but where's your place?" 

"Not part of the question," Clarke wags her finger at him playfully. She wonders if she'll ever get the chance to show it to him, the kid's enrichment center a few blocks from campus where she's taught a few art classes when her mind was a mess after Finn. 

"And ... " she takes a deep breath, weighing it out before pressing ahead. "I think we both don't have dads," she says quietly. 

There's a moment where shock flickers over his handsome face, but he schools it quickly. 

"Perceptive. And accurate," he tips his chin down. "My dad died when I was eight. He was a police officer killed in the line of duty." 

"Oh," Clarke lets out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. Her right hand is resting on the table and she wants to reach out and lay it over his left one, but it feels like too intimate a gesture for someone she hardly knows. "I'm so sorry, Bellamy. That's awful," she settles for instead. 

"Thanks. It was a long time ago." 

Eighteen years ago, her mind whispers. Bellamy rubs at his jawline, and she sees the dark shadow of stubble starting to form there, reminding her of how much older he is than her. 

The heightened tension in the air lifts when it's Bellamy's turn to answer. 

"What do you feel most grateful for in life?" 

"My sister," he beams without having to think about it. "She's the most important person in the world to me." 

Clarke thinks it's sweet but doesn't comment. 

"If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?" 

"All the stuffy political functions I got dragged to as a kid." The words spill out of Clarke before she's considered them. "I would have rather spent the time getting ice cream with my friends from school or playing soccer with my dad. It seemed like every other weekend mom needed to make an appearance at some gala or fundraiser." 

She's concerned she came off as ungrateful or whiny, but as Bellamy studies her face, she doesn't find judgment in it. 

"What does friendship mean to you?" Clarke asks a few minutes later. 

"Loyalty," comes the immediate answer. "Having someone's back, like a different kind of family." 

Clarke smiles. "I like that." 

Bellamy is rubbing the back of his neck again, reading off the sheet. They've been here almost an hour Clarke is surprised to see when she glances up at the clock. 

"Ok, so we're supposed to alternate saying five positive things about each other." 

Clarke wiggles her eyebrows. "Great. You first." 

He smirks at her. "You're clearly the type of girl who's up for an adventure, agreeing to this." 

"I can be sometimes," she concedes. "You're good with people. You make them feel important. I've seen you talking to everyone that comes to the circulation desk, trying to help them with their projects." 

Bellamy sits up straighter before leaning inward. The motion knocks his knees against hers. His eyes seem blacker than before. Clarke has the feeling this is about to become a competition. 

"You're a hard worker." 

"You sacrifice things for your family." 

It's hard to tell with his skin tone, but she thinks she might have made him blush a dusty rust color high on his cheekbones. 

"You're considerate." 

"How so?"

"My castle cookie was delicious." 

"Oh," she laughs lightly. 

"So are you." 

He raises an eyebrow. 

She points at her now empty cup of hot chocolate on the table. 

"You're open-minded, studying all those different subjects instead of just getting pigeon-holed into one." 

Her throat goes dry at the thought of her next compliment, but she steels herself with a deep breath and plows on. 

"You take care of yourself." 

"Meaning?"

Clarke arches a wry eyebrow. "Nobody has biceps like that without hitting the gym ... a lot." 

Bellamy's smirk grows rapidly. "Nice you noticed." 

"You like kids." 

That one catches her off guard. 

"How do you figure?" 

"That story about your dad building the slip-n-slide for the neighborhood kids. Your eyes lit up when you told it." 

Something flushes deep inside her in a way she didn't know was possible. 

"You're positive. You have this warm kind of energy about you." 

She's sure it's a blush this time. 

Time rolls by, and Clarke can hear small snippets of the other couples' conversations stirring up around them. Bellamy defines his relationship with his mother as "complicated" without offering any other details. She admits that she can shut down emotionally and run away when life gets overwhelming. Clarke looks down at her white paper. 

"I'm supposed to tell you something I like about you now." 

"We could be here a while." 

She snorts, and then immediately covers her nose and mouth with her hand, mortified. 

Bellamy barely blinks, just smiles at her as if to say, "I'm waiting." And that's when it come to her, as over-the-top as the response may be. 

"You make me feel like everything is ok. I know that sounds crazy because we just met and all, but, I don't know. I feel comfortable around you." 

It's so much more than she'd ever normally say. But Bellamy seems to take it in stride, reaching out to lay his hand on her shoulder for the briefest of moments. "Likewise," he murmurs. 

Before she knows it, they've finished section three. If she thought the questions were challenging, it's absolutely nothing compared to staring into Bellamy's chocolate eyes for four minutes. Were the scientists who dreamed this up insane? The freckles spanning the bridge of his nose tap dance a little as her eyes adjust their focus. The longer she stares, the more colors she sees reflected in his irises - honey, amber, mahogany. It doesn't take long for her brain to go floaty, and then it's like she's falling into his gaze, locked onto it by some invisible force. His eyes are their own galaxy she wants to swim in. 

"Time's up!" Murphy yells at last. 

Clarke blinks once. Twice. Again. Bellamy is shaking his head back and forth mildly. 

"That was crazy," she offers to break the weird energy cords she still senses connecting their bodies. 

"Definitely not your average Wednesday," Bellamy agrees though his voice sounds strange, too gruff. 

Fortunately, Maya's presence breaks the spell as she steps up to their table. "Thanks again for participating, guys. Here is your payment," she lays down two white envelopes on the table. "And we'll send out follow-up emails asking you both to come back in about two months." 

"For what?" Clarke asks. 

Maya's dark eyes settle on her in mild confusion. "To see if you fall in love, of course!" 

The wind is whipping around them when they scurry down the stone steps and back to the quad. The last of the sun is slipping away beyond the pine trees at the edge of campus, soaking the sky in a rich burst of golden pink. Bellamy won't stop apologizing for getting her involved in the experiment. He keeps ruffling his hair every few seconds, and it's actually kind of adorable. When he tries to begin a fourth time, Clarke steps forward and rests a hand delicately on his bicep. 

"Really, it's ok. I had fun," she shakes her envelope with her free hand, "And I was handsomely compensated." 

Bellamy sighs and digs his hands into his pockets. His eyes scan the landscape and rest on a group of students at the edge of a nearby parking lot waiting in line to place an order at one of three brightly painted food trucks. "Let me buy you a taco," he points in the direction of the truck graced with sombreros and chili peppers. "It's the least I could do." 

The skin around Clarke's eyes crinkles when she grins up at him, stomach swooping. 

"I never say no to tacos." 


	6. Chapter 6

Nearly a week passes without a word from Bellamy. Clarke knows she's being stupid. They're barely friends. She doesn't even have his number. He'd never asked for hers. She shoves that sharp thought away with a sigh. This is silly; he doesn't owe her anything. They're two people who met in a library, had a few conversations, did a random experiment together and ate tacos standing on the curb of a parking lot. It's not exactly Romeo & Juliet here. Yet something about their time together in the lab still lingers with her anyway. She replays the questions and answers over in her mind on a loop wondering if she stepped over the line at some point, said too much, acted too weird. Nothing springs to mind except for her guess about his dad being gone, but Bellamy hadn't seemed upset when she said it. 

She rubs her hand across her face before tangling her fingers into her hair and smoothing out the edges to bring the natural oils to the surface. The black, blinking cursor on her computer screen is insistently judging her. Her U.S. Diplomacy paper isn't going to write itself, but she can't stay focused long enough to care much. Setting up shop on the top floor of the library in a quiet corner near Archives hasn't done the trick unfortunately. Ever time she writes so much as a paragraph, she's distracted by the memory of deep brown eyes penetrating her psyche. 

A loud throat clearing over her head makes her jump, almost spilling her bottle of water onto her keyboard with her jerky hand motions. 

"Sorry," she looks up in time to see Bellamy wince. "I need to get better at not accidentally scaring the hell out of you." 

Clarke smiles weakly even though her heart has taken off on a sprint. "No harm done. My fault, I was lost in thought." 

They stare at each other for a few seconds longer than normal people would. Clarke realizes she's blinking too much. Are they going to talk about what happened last week? Not going to talk about what happened last week? Some sort of clue would be helpful. Bellamy's face remains maddeningly placid. 

"So, umm, how are you?" she ventures. 

"Good. I've been good." Bellamy shifts from foot to foot, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His weirdness is making her feel even weirder when it shouldn't. He approached her, after all. "It's time to lock up Archives so here I am." He rocks back on his heels, full of more energy than she's seen before. 

"I see." 

"How about you? You pick out the car of your dreams yet?" 

Clarke lets out a dry laugh. "Not even close. I'm definitely still a pedestrian around here." 

"Yeah, about that." Bellamy rubs at the back of his neck. "Can I walk you back to your dorm? We're closing up in twenty minutes, and I'd feel better if-" he trails off. 

Does hope feel like ever-expanding bubbles behind your ribs? He'd known she was here. He'd noticed her and didn't want her to walk home alone. 

"If?" 

"If I knew you were safe," Bellamy finishes more firmly, lips settling into a tight line. "It's a big campus, and it's late." 

He's like a temple she traveled a long way to visit, and now that she's arrived, she can't look away from it. 

"Ok, sure, thanks," she manages. 

He grins at her in a brilliant display of white teeth. "You're welcome, Princess. I'll text you when it's time to go?"

"That would be great if you actually had my number." 

Surprise dawns on his face and then he's laughing, rich and easy again. She loves his laugh. "Right, that would help. Wanna trade phones?" 

They pull out their cells and put their numbers into each other's contacts. Bellamy smirks when she hands his back to him. She couldn't help herself and had to add the crown emoji next to her name. 

"I didn't want you to forget which Clarke you were talking to." 

"Because I know so many of them," he retorts drily. 

It's ghostly quiet on the main floor when Clarke approaches the circulation desk. Without the desk lamps, the place feels drafty and a touch hollow despite the bookshelves everywhere. 

"Hey," she says softly, resting her bag on top of the counter. 

"Ready to go?" Bellamy replies, staring down at his computer screen to log off. 

"Yup." 

The air is brisk as ever as they take the main path leading straight out from the library doors. The trees are bare of leaves, and Clarke examines the lonely branches to give her mind something to focus on beside the man walking beside her. A few people are still roaming around, but mostly its their footsteps that fill the silence. Bellamy is close enough that her fingers brush his once accidentally, making her freeze for a second in a ridiculous wave of embarrassment disproportionate to the situation. He looks down at her as she draws away with a raised eyebrow. 

"So how is your paper coming along?" 

"Good," she sighs. "It's an interesting topic. American humanitarian aid as an instrument of foreign policy in African countries with high maternal and infant mortality rates." 

"Sounds deep and ... intense," Bellamy kicks a rock as it comes up on their path. "But fitting." 

"How so?" she laughs a little, turning to look at his jawline because it's the only part of him she thinks she can safely linger on. 

"Well you said you were leaning toward pre-med, so I could see you wanting to study something that's related to medicine while you're looking at international relations." 

"Good memory," Clarke compliments him. 

"I try." 

Bellamy stops for a moment, looking around at the fork in the path they now find themselves approaching. 

"Sorry, where do you live?"

"God, I never told you, did I?" 

"Nope, you're just leading me into the darkness to murder me is what I figured." 

She grins. "Hit you on the head with my laptop." 

"Exactly." 

They smile at each other, and that pesky warm, fluttering feeling fills her stomach again. It's nice to talk to someone who understands her stupid attempts at humor. 

"Phoenix Hall." 

"Ah," Bellamy pretends to be contemplative for a moment, stroking his chin. "A real coming-of-age experience for you, then? The only freshman dorm that allows men and women on the same floor." 

She really wishes he'd forget she was a freshman, but it's likely not going to happen. 

"Yeah, yeah, Fiesta Flats, I know what they call us. It's not like I picked it." 

He bumps his shoulder against hers. "You deserve to have some fun, Princess." 

She narrows her eyes at him. "Hey, I can be fun." 

He smirks. "Yeah, I know." 

Clarke splutters for a moment and picks up the pace a little. "Ok then, what did you do this weekend if you're so fun?" 

Bellamy rubs at the back of his neck. "I went to a shooting range outside Arkadia to blow off some steam." 

This surprises her. The plaid-wearing library assistant who helps set up elementary bake sales wanting to fire automatic rifles. Maybe that questionnaire wasn't as all-encompassing as the researchers thought. 

"Valentine's date gone wrong?" Clarke asks cheekily, recovering herself. No need to consider the hundred times she wondered who he went out with the day after she last saw him. She spent the holiday rolled up in blankets in her dorm room with Raven - the one good thing she got out of the Finn Saga - eating crinkle-paper chocolates from a heart-shaped box while Harper went out to an Italian restaurant with Monty. Sure it was just a Hallmark holiday, and true, finding out her "boyfriend" of two months had been using her as the other woman while his girlfriend was away for study abroad had been a mess, and yet. Something about the timbre of Bellamy's voice made her believe in the impossible again. 

Bellamy's laugh is low. "Nah, it went fine. Found out she likes pulled pork tacos." 

Her mouth falls open as his words sink in. She flushes. Is he teasing her? Before she can formulate a reply, his phone is buzzing loudly, and he pulls it out to see who's calling. 

"Hey, man. Yeah? All right, sounds good. Yeah, I can make it. Ok, how many? Sure, you got it. Talk to you later. Bye." 

The conversation only lasts two minutes or so, but in that time, Clarke's directed them down the far-right pathway, and her well-illuminated fortress of a dorm is glowing closer with every step. 

"Sorry," Bellamy says as he pockets his phone. "That was my friend Miller. The basketball team's hosting a party at his place off-campus on Saturday, and he wants me to pick up some beer." 

"Oh," she swallows. Was she always this bad at making conversation? "Hope you have a good time," she offers lamely. 

The skin around his eyes folds together when he laughs and he stops her with a warm hand on her inner elbow. The light shining from her building's lower windows brings his freckles into relief. 

"Do you want to come with me?" 

Hope's not a set of bubbles. Hope's a dragon built of fireworks. 

Her crystal blue eyes widen. She bites her lower lip to keep from smiling like an overexcited idiot. 

"Ok." 

Bellamy nods and winks? maybe? horribly at her. 

"I'll text you the details when I know more." 

"Sounds good." 

They're standing next to the steps leading up to her door now, and Clarke's trying her hardest not to shift from foot to foot, but she's brimming over with energy. 

"Good night, Clarke." 

"'Night, Bellamy." 

He turns to walk away and makes it a few steps before she finds herself calling out his name. Dashing up to him before she loses her nerve, she rises up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his tawny cheek. 

"Thanks for walking me home," she whispers when he just blinks at her. She flies up the steps to her door, pulling out her card to scan in and too nervous to turn back for one last look. 


End file.
